


Aegon's Hill

by lilgulie5



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Jon and Dany aren't related, Jonerys Valentine's Challenge, Jonerys Valentine's Week, Light Angst, Notting Hill, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-11-04 00:00:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17887637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilgulie5/pseuds/lilgulie5
Summary: Jon Snow owns a small travel bookshop in the quaint neighborhood of Aegon's Hill in King's Landing. One day his world is turned upside down when star of the big and small screen, Daenerys Targaryen, walks into his shop and changes his life forever. A Modern Rom-Com AU based on the movie Notting Hill.





	Aegon's Hill

**Author's Note:**

> I started this fic hoping to have the first chapter done in time for the Jonerys Valentine's Week, but I'm a few days late. Notting Hill is one of my favorite movies/Rom-Coms and I just really wanted to try to write a version of it featuring Jonerys. It follows the same basic flow of the movie but will diverge a bit here and there. The first chapter is more heavily influence dialogue-wise by the movie, but that will also change in subsequent chapters. I hope you all enjoy it!

Jon looked both ways before crossing the bustling street filled with people and turned down Eel Way. His neighborhood, his home, of Aegon’s Hill was his very favorite part of King’s Landing. In the springtime it was filled with people selling anything one could possibly want, from flowers to fruit to priceless antiques. The shops that lined Eel Way included a tattoo parlor, hair stylist, and Jon’s very own small travel bookshop that he’d finally been able to open a handful of years ago. His home was just off of Eel Way and a couple hundred feet further down the lane. 

 

He had moved into the home with his girlfriend after university and they had spent a few blissful years there until she left him for a man who looked exactly like a famous movie star from one of those space adventure movies. He lived a strange half-life with a roommate turned acquaintance turned friend of sorts. A rough, Northern fellow who Jon got along with surprisingly well, despite all of his quirks, uncleanliness, and faults. 

 

“Tormund!” he called as he unlocked the door and made his way through the front hall. Jon tossed the loaf of fresh bread he’d just bought on the counter and dropped two slices in the toaster. 

 

“Good! You’re home,” his roommate replied as he came barreling down the stairs in nothing but a pair of off-white briefs. “I need your help.” 

 

“I’ll say,” Jon muttered under his breath on his way to the fridge to fetch the jam. 

 

“This is of the utmost importance. I am finally going on a date with the great Brienne and I just want to be sure I’ve picked the right shirt.” 

 

“Let’s see them.” 

 

Tormund pulled a shirt over his unruly shock of red hair held his arms out so that Jon could evaluate it. The shirt was white -or had been white once- and had a plastic alien coming out of the stomach, surrounded by a pool of blood. Tormund flicked the alien with his finger for good measure and gestured to the words  _ I Love Blood _ . 

 

“Not entirely subtle is it?” Jon wondered aloud. “And perhaps not the message you’d want to send...on your very first date.” 

 

“Point taken,” Tormund replied and dashed up the stairs only to appear moments later pulling on another ghastly choice. 

 

The second shirt what much more understated than the first. In bold, block letters it simply read  _ Get It Here _ with an arrow pointing down to the crotch. Jon tried not to grimace. 

 

“Again,” he said. “She might not think you have true love on your mind.” 

 

“Right! I’ve got one more that should do it.” 

 

The third shirt he appeared in was leagues better than the first two. While it may have been a far cry from something elegant, it had small red and pink hearts across the front of it with the words  _ You’re the Most Beautiful Woman in the World.  _ He had no idea Tormund was such a romantic. Although he would never be caught dead wearing such a shirt on a date, Jon knew that it was far and away the best of the three options and might just do the trick to woo the object of Tormund’s affection. After all, she had already agreed to go on a date with him so she must not be completely oblivious to his roommate’s...charms. 

 

“There,” Jon smiled while he spread jam across his toast. “That’s perfect. Well done.” 

 

“Thanks! Wish me luck!” 

 

“Luck!” 

 

Jon took his plate of toast and a cuppa over to the table while Tormund raced back up the stairs. It wasn’t until he was already halfway up that Jon noticed lettered on the back of the shirt that said  _ Fancy a fuck? _

 

* * *

The numbers were bad. Jon knew that before he even punched the figures into the adding machine.  _ In the red again _ , he thought as he looked up at a hopeful looking Sam and shook his head. Sam had been his roommate in college and Jon had given him a part-time job at the shop after his father cut him off and practically disowned him after Sam switched majors in their second year at uni, changing from business to philosophy. He lived with his girlfriend, Gilly, while he was still in school for his doctorate. Although he was on scholarship, he’d needed additional income and Jon had offered him a job. 

 

“How bad?” Sam asked, looking as if he was bracing himself for someone to tear off a band-aid. 

 

“It’s really classic. After our last sales push we’re down...two hundred forty-seven golden dragons.” 

 

“Fancy a cappuccino? To help ease the pain?” 

 

“I need something to get me through this day. Yeah, but make mine a half.” 

 

“Good logic, as always. Two demi-cappuccinos coming right up.” 

 

Sam walked out the front door and Jon tossed the calculator back into the drawer. He needed to come up with something soon or he would risk losing the shop altogether. It had done well enough for itself when he’d first opened it, but the allure of a new store had worn off months ago and now dozens of books languished on the shelves. Untouched, unread, their spines unbroken. 

 

This was hardly the life Jon had imagined for himself. When he had graduated from university, he had fancied himself as a writer, a travel writer, ideally. Unfortunately he had neither the money nor the means to travel the world and write about the places he’d visited and photographed. So his dreams remained just that, dreams that would more likely than not never materialize into any kind of a reality. He was so busy feeling sorry for himself, that he barely noticed the customer who walked in just as Sam breezed out the door. 

 

She was short, a petite thing, with a baseball cap covering her stunning silver-blonde hair that was braided and hung just over her shoulder. She wore sunglasses and left them on as she perused a shelf he knew contained books about Essos and the lands beyond Asshai. He did not know her, but there was something familiar about her. 

 

“Can I help you?” he asked, a bit more abruptly than he intended. 

 

“No, thanks,” she replied, a small smile gracing her face. “I’m just looking.” 

 

There it was. The smile. That voice. It was all enough for him to put together just why she seemed so familiar. Standing there in his little bookshop in the middle of Aegon’s Hill was none other than Daenerys Targaryen, star of the big and small screens. Jon had seen her show. Who hadn’t? He had seen some of her movies, even the ones that weren’t so popular, or good for that matter. She had spoken actual  _ words _ to him and she was currently browsing a particularly dreadful book.

 

“That book’s shit,” Jon commented. “You know, just in case browsing might turn to buying...you’d be wasting your money.” 

 

“Really?” she replied, glancing down at the book in her hands. 

 

“Yes. This one on the other hand,” he said, picking a book up off the side counter. “Is quite good. I think the man who wrote it has actually been to Meereen, which I hear helps. There’s also a very amusing incident with a goat.” 

 

“Thanks, I’ll think about it.” 

 

He wanted to tell her more, to ask her if she was perhaps taking a trip to the East or if she just wanted to read about it. His recommendation would be dependant on her answer, but just as the words were forming on the tip of his tongue he spied something out of the corner of his eye on the closed-circuit TV screen on the shelf just left of the desk. Another customer who had been browsing in the back for over fifteen minutes had just stuffed a book into his pants. 

 

“If you could give me a moment,” he excused himself and made for the back room. “Excuse me.” 

 

“Yes?” the man replied. He was a dodgy looking fellow with baggy clothing and dark disheveled hair that rivaled Tormund’s. 

 

“Bad news. I’m afraid we’ve got a security camera that looks in on this bit of the shop.” 

 

“So?” 

 

“So...I saw you stuff the book into your trousers.” 

 

“I haven’t got a book down my trousers.” 

 

“Right,” Jon said evenly. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll call the gold cloaks and if there’s not a book in your trousers, I’ll apologize. If there is a book in your pants then I’ll let them cart you off.” 

 

“Alright, let’s say I did have a book in my trousers.” 

 

“Ideally, I would go back to the desk and you would discreetly remove it, wipe it off and put it back on the shelf. I’ll be back in a bit,” 

 

Jon left the man to contemplate his options, fairly secure in what his decision would be. It wasn’t the first time someone had tried to shoplift and he knew it wouldn’t be the last time. Despite his threat, he had no real intention of getting law enforcement involved in the situation. If the bloke really did want a book on the Westerlands, Jon would be happy to recommend one he might find at the library, but he assumed that was not the case. When he returned to the desk Daenerys was leafing through one of the books laying haphazardly across the counter. 

 

“Sorry about that,” Jon apologized. 

 

“No, that’s fine. I was thinking about stealing one myself, but now I’ve reconsidered. I see this one is signed by the author.” 

 

“Yeah, I couldn’t stop him. If you can find an unsigned copy it’s worth a fortune. You know how maesters are.” 

 

Daenerys smiled at that and Jon felt his heart leap unexpectedly in his chest. As he smiled back at her, he noticed the book bandit had sidled up next to her at the counter. 

 

“Excuse me,” he said. 

 

“Yes?” she replied. 

 

“Can I have your autograph?” 

 

The would-be thief thrust a crinkled piece of paper towards her and Jon saw a hint of reluctance in her movements as she took it from him. She searched for a pen and he grabbed one off of the register and handed it to her. 

 

“What’s your name?” 

 

“Ramsay.” 

 

Daenerys scribbled across the paper and handed it back to him. 

 

“What does it say?” he asked, attempting to decipher her cursive script. 

 

“That’s my signature and above that it says  _ Dear Ramsay, you belong in jail. _ ” 

 

“Cool. Would you like my phone number?” 

 

“Tempting,” she replied. “But...no, thank you.” 

 

To Jon’s surprise, Ramsay the book thief left without another word, leaving him quite alone with Daenerys Targaryen. She slid a book across the counter, the same one he had said was a terrible choice along with a few notes of cash. 

 

“I think I will take this one.” 

 

“Right,” he replied, typing the price into the register and counting out her change. “Well, maybe it’s not that bad afterall. In fact, I think it’s quite underrated. No silly children’s stories about goats and such. Who would want to read those? And I’ll throw in one of these signed books as well.” 

 

He dropped a book from the counter into the bag and handed it over to her. She smiled and took the bag from him, her fingers lightly grazing his as it exchanged hands. 

 

“Thanks,” she nodded and without another word walked out of the bookshop and onto Eel Way. 

 

* * *

She was running late, so  _ fucking  _ late and if she missed this conference call Tyrion was going to kill her. Her agent had set up a rather important call with a casting director for a new film. After just wrapping up one series she had countless options open to her, especially with a new film due out in just another month. That meant another round of press through at least Braavos and some of the other Free Cities, perhaps even King’s Landing again. If Tyrion could swing it, she might even be going as far east as Asshai. She’d never been before and though it seemed exhausting, it could also be exciting as well. Or perhaps she needed a break. After all, she had worked non-stop for nearly ten years. Her work was important to her. She was passionate about it, but it had taken a toll on her personal life, or lack thereof. 

 

She had taken care to calculate the time change and make sure she would be able to make it back to her hotel in time, she had even set an alarm on her phone, but she had not accounted for the length of time she had spent in the bookshop and the peculiar encounter there with that delightfully awkward fellow. As it was, she was in for a earful from Tyrion if she didn’t make it to the hotel in-. 

 

“Seven hells,” the man cursed as he collided with her sending the contents of his beverage cup onto her white t-shirt and her phone flying through the air. 

 

“Holy fucking fuck,” she replied, scurrying for her phone and finding it laying face down. She cringed when she turned it over to reveal a completely shattered screen. To make matters worse, none of the buttons seemed to function as a result of the fall. 

 

“Oh, bugger it. I’m so sorry.” 

 

Dany knew that voice, it was somewhat familiar and when she looked up from her mangled phone she saw none other than the man from the bookshop. He was doused in the same orange liquid that had soaked her shirt and was continuing to profusely apologize. Juice was likewise splattered into his mess of dark brown curls and across his glasses. 

 

“For the love of R’hllor.” 

 

“Here, let me help you,” he insisted and began to use the napkins in his hand to try to wipe at her shirt, his hand grazing her breasts without realizing what he was doing. 

 

“Get your hands off me,” she said, brushing him away. “What do you think you’re doing?” 

 

“Nothing, just nothing...I’m so sorry.” 

 

“So you’ve said.” 

 

“Look, I live just over there, you could get cleaned up there.” 

 

“No thanks, I need to get my car back and now I don’t know how I’m going to do that with a busted phone.” 

 

She was  _ definitely _ going to be late for the conference call. 

 

“I also have a phone,” the man offered. “I’m confident that in five minutes we can have you cleaned up and back on the street. Er...in a non-prostitute sense.” 

 

Dany looked at him out of the corner of her eye. She wasn’t sure why, but she trusted him. She had just bought a new outfit and she could easily change into it and use his phone to call Tyrion, or Missy her assistant, or call her hotel to get her car to come around and pick her up. It would be better to be late for the conference call than to not be able to make it at all. She could always blame her tardiness on a bad connection or a miscalculation of the time difference between King’s Landing and Braavos. If he lived as close as he said he did, it would be worth it to at least not have to walk around in an orange juice stained sticky t-shirt. That would surely only draw attention to herself and the paparazzi in King’s Landing were particularly intrusive. 

 

“Okay, what does  _ just over there _ mean? Give it to me in yards.” 

 

“Eighteen yards, to be exact,” he said pointing across the street. “That’s my house there. The one with the red door.” 

 

He wasn’t lying. There, across the street, wedged between a white and a yellow house, was a very unassuming house with a red door. She stared at it for a few beats and looked over to him and nodded, letting him lead her across the road and to his front door. 

 

* * *

His house was an absolute fucking mess and Daenerys Targaryen was standing in his foyer, broken phone in hand, and an orange juice stained t-shirt clinging to her body. He tried hard not to stare, but the orange liquid kept drawing his attention. 

 

“I’m sorry, if you could just,” he motioned for her to stay put. “Wait here just a moment.” 

 

Jon hurriedly rushed into the kitchen tossing plates into the bin and shoving dishes into the sink, covering them with a towel. He brushed the crumbs off the counter onto the floor and placed the butter back into the fridge. Running his hand through his dark mess of curls he surveyed the room and deemed it adequate enough for an award nominated movie and television star.

 

“Come through,” he beckoned. “I’m sorry it’s not that clean. My roommate is-.” 

 

“It’s fine,” Daenerys replied as she walked through and stood in front of him, expectantly waiting to be given further instructions. 

 

“Right. The loo is just up the stairs and there is a phone on the side table just next to the sofa.” 

 

He took the bag from his bookshop from her hand and set it on the kitchen table before motioning for her to head up the stairs. The moment she was out of sight he began to frantically start cleaning again, thinking that his efforts would somehow help the impression she must surely have of him by now. In no more than ten minutes she was already descending the stairs, dressed now in a sparkly black top with a tailored black blazer pulled over it, sleeves scrunched up to the elbows. It was hardly something she would wear if she wanted to go unnoticed. She’d let her braid out, too and now her her platinum hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders. She was breathtaking, even without trying to be. 

 

“Would you like a cup of tea before you go?” he asked. 

 

“No thanks,” she declined with a small smile. 

 

“Coffee?” 

 

“No.” 

 

“Orange juice?” 

 

She laughed through her nose at that, her eyes rolling as she merely shook her head. 

 

“Right,” he nodded. “Probably not, given the circumstances.” 

 

Jon threw open the door to the fridge and began to rummage inside without rhyme or reason. Surely there was something inside that might be of use to her. Even his fridge was a cluttered mess, filled with half-eaten take out, expired sauces, and mystery items Tormund had created that Jon did not want to have anything to do with. 

 

“Let’s see…” he said, popping his head back out again. “We’ve got cola, water, some disgusting sugary drink, something else masquerading as juice from the children of the forest, whatever that is…” 

 

“Really, that’s kind, but no,” she replied, shifting her weight and fiddling with the strap of her purse.

 

“Maybe something to nibble then. A snack to tide you over. I’ve got apricots soaked in some kind of honey. No one really knows why. It stops them from tasting like apricots altogether and makes them taste of honey. If one wanted something tasting like honey, they could just eat honey.” 

 

“No.” 

 

He was desperate and in that moment he realized why he was so anxious to find  _ something _ she might want. He did not want her to leave, not at all, not even a little bit. Despite being mortified by their second encounter, he was completely enchanted by her and the thought of this perfectly imperfect moment being over made his stomach turn over. 

 

“Do you always say  _ no _ to everything?” he wondered aloud. “Is that the only word you know?”

 

She thought his question over and looked at him sincerely before shaking her head. 

 

“No,” Daenerys smiled. He wished he could have thought of something else clever to say, just to see her smile again. “I really better be going. Thanks for your help...I just realized I don’t know your name.” 

 

“Jon...Snow. Or just Jon. You’re welcome and may I also say...heavenly.” 

 

Her eyes went wide at that and he almost regretted his comment, but he couldn’t  _ not _ tell her.

 

“I needed to take my one chance to say that,” he explained. “After you read that horrendous book you certainly won’t be coming back to the shop.” 

 

Another smile. 

 

“Thank you.” 

 

“My pleasure.” 

 

Jon led her towards the door. His hand lingered on the latch before he turned it and held the door open for her. 

 

“It was nice to meet you. Surreal, but nice.” 

 

She walked out of the door and out of his life, just as if she had never been there to begin with.  _ Surreal, but nice? _ he berated himself.  _ Who bloody says things like that? _ The very last thing he said to her was one of the most horrific phrases he had ever uttered. Three years from now he would lie awake at night and replay that moment in his head over and over again. She would probably tell her posh friends about the awkward bloke from Aegon’s Hill who had told her it was  _ surreal, but nice _ to meet her. They’d throw their heads back and laugh before ordering another round of cosmos. He really was shite with words sometimes.  _ I’m certainly not a bleeding poet.  _

 

He was halfway down the corridor when he head a quiet knock on the door. 

 

“Coming,” he called, though barely loud enough for anyone but himself to hear. 

 

Jon opened the door to reveal none other than Daenerys Targaryen. 

 

“Oh hi,” he said stupidly. “Forget something?” 

 

“My bag of books, it seems.” 

 

“Right. Let me grab that for you. Just a minute.” 

 

_ Her bloody book bag you git, _ he thought as he jogged back to the kitchen to retrieve the bag she had left on the kitchen table.  _ It’s not as if she’s come back to see you _ . She had stepped inside the house and closed the door by the time he made it back to where she was standing. 

 

“Here we are,” he said, handing off the bag to her. 

 

“Thanks,” she replied and took an unnecessary step forward to accept the bag. 

 

They stood awkwardly close to one another, too close for two strangers, neither one quite sure how to say goodbye for the second time. He very nearly offered to shake her hand, but then she leaned forward and without warning pressed her lips against his. Stunned, Jon stood stock still, absorbing what was happening before his brain had a chance to catch up and react. He kissed her back and kept his eyes closed for a second after they parted. 

 

“I’m sorry for the  _ surreal, but nice _ comment,” he said. “Complete disaster.” 

 

“It’s alright,” Daenerys beamed. “I thought the apricots and honey was the real low point of the conversation.” 

 

The sound of a key sliding into the lock on the door pulled them back to reality and a grimace spread across Jon’s face. 

 

“Shit, my roommate. I’m sorry. Look, there’s no apology or explanation for him.” 

 

Tormund walked through the door and casually regarded Daenerys, seemingly only bothered by the fact that she and Jon were standing directly in the foyer and in the middle of his path to the kitchen. 

 

“Hi,” he said, looking her up and down. 

 

“Hi,” she merely replied. 

 

That seemed enough to satisfy him and he slid past, lumbering down the corridor. 

 

“I’m just going to go into the kitchen to get some food and then I’m going to tell you a story that will make your already tiny balls shrink to the size of raisins.” 

 

“Probably best not to tell anyone about this,” Daenerys whispered to Jon.

 

“Right,” he agreed. “I mean, I’ll tell myself from time to time, but don’t worry, even I won’t believe it.” 

 

“Bye, Jon.” 

 

She touched his hand,  _ intentionally _ touched his hand and then walked out of the door again. 

 

“There’s something wrong with this yogurt,” Tormund said, shoveling another spoonful of a nondescript white substance into his mouth. 

 

“That’s because it’s not yogurt. It’s mayonnaise.” 

 

“Ah, well there you go,” he muttered and took another bite. 

 

* * *

Five days had passed and Jon still could not get Daenerys out of his head. It wasn’t easy to do, not when her face was plastered on everything from magazine covers to buses, to fragrance ads in shopping centres. It seemed like everywhere he turned, she was there. Except...it wasn’t her, not really. It was  _ Daenerys Targaryen _ , the mega star, not Daenerys, the lovely woman who had waltzed into his bookshop and then into his house because of his mere clumsiness. They were two separate people. Daenerys Targaryen was unattainable, but Daenerys had smiled at him, had laughed at his awkwardness, and had kissed him. He wondered if she was still in King’s Landing or if she had gone back to Braavos. So distracted was he that he barely noticed Tormund clunk into the room in a full suit of armor. 

 

“What are you…” he began. “Nevermind. Maybe I don’t want to know. Were there any messages for me today?” 

 

“Yeah,” Tormund nodded, lifting the visor on the helm. “And a couple that I wrote down.” 

 

“Just two?” 

 

“I’m supposed to write down all of your messages?” 

 

Jon sighed heavily and took off his wire-frame glasses to rub his eyes. “Alright, the ones you didn’t write down...do you remember anything about them?” 

 

“Sorry, mate. It’s completely gone from my mind. Wait, no. I remember. Your uncle called. He said something about thinking his leg was infected.” 

 

“I’ll call him later. Nothing else?” 

 

“That’s it.” 

 

Tormund began to slink away when he halted and turned back around, the armor clinking with each step. 

 

“Well...if I’m supposed to be in the habit of telling you all of the people who called...there was a call the other day. Some chick. Sounded like she had an accent from the Free Cities. She had an unusual name. Dandelion or something.” 

 

“Daenerys?” Jon choked. 

 

“That’s the one.” 

 

“When did she call?” 

 

“Two, three days ago?” 

 

“You’re worthless. Utterly worthless. What did she say? Or can you not remember that either?” 

 

“No, I can. It was so strange. She said  _ Hi, it’s Daenerys. Call me at the Golden Lion hotel. _ And then she gave herself a completely different name.” 

 

“Which was?” 

 

“Haven’t a clue.” 

 

“Seven Hells,” Jon cursed loudly and pulled his phone from his pocket. He looked up the number for the front desk of the Golden Lion hotel and waiting while it rang in his ear. 

 

“Golden Lion hotel, how may I help you?” the posh voice on the other end answered. The Golden Lion hotel was one of the nicest hotels in all of King’s Landing and a flagship hotel owned by the Lannister family of Casterly Rock in the Westerlands. Jon had heard that even the toilets were plated in gold, though he’d never actually seen one. 

 

“Hi, yes. I’m...this is an odd request. I’m looking for someone by the name of Daenerys Targaryen. She rang me a few days ago and said she was staying-.” 

 

“I’m sorry, sir. There is no one at this hotel by that name.” 

 

“Yes, I know that. She’s gone by a completely different name. You see the problem is, my dolt of a roommate took the message and completely forgot what that name was.” 

 

“I’m terribly sorry, sir. I’m afraid I can’t help you.” 

 

“Please,” Jon begged. “Imagine living with the stupidest creature imaginable. Are you picturing him?” 

 

“Yes, I am,” the man on the other end of the phone sigh. Jon could tell his patience was wearing thin. 

 

“Well that’s the git I’m currently living with and he can’t remember the-.” 

 

“Seastar,” Tormund yelled from the other room. 

 

Jon covered the receiver with his hand and called back. “What did you say?” 

 

“Try Seastar.” 

 

“I’m sorry, this is going to sound absurd. Would you happen to have a Miss Seastar staying at your hotel?” 

 

“One moment while I put the call through.” 

 

Jon paced around the room, running his hand through his hair and quietly practicing just how he would address her when she picked up on the other line, if she picked up at all. Maybe she wasn’t in her rooms. Maybe she was out for the afternoon. Maybe he had missed his chance altogether.  _ Hey _ seemed to casual.  _ What’s up _ too outdated.  _ Hello _ was an obvious choice. 

 

“Hi?” Daenerys’s melodic voice came through. Clearly she had heard him rehearsing. 

 

“Hi,” he quickly replied. “Hello there. This is Jon Snow. We, umm...I own a bookshop.” 

 

“You played it pretty cool waiting a few days to call back, you know.” 

 

“I didn’t. Not on purpose anyway. I’ve never played anything cool, I can promise you. My roommate, you know, only just gave me your message.” 

 

“Oh. Okay.” 

 

“I was wondering, if you were interested, if I might drop ‘round for tea or something.” 

 

_ Shoot me with arrows _ , he thought, lightly pounding his head against a doorframe.  _ Tea? Are you fucking mad? _

 

“I would,” she replied, much to his surprise. “It’s just...well unfortunately things for me are pretty busy today, but um…” 

 

_ Please say yes. Please say yes.  _

 

“If we could try for tomorrow around four o’clock it just might work.” 

 

“Okay,” he smiled in disbelief at his own good fortune. “Four o’clock.” 

 

“Just give the name you gave on the phone to the front desk along with your name and they’ll see that you get up here. I’ll see you then.” 

 

“Great, see you then.” 

 

He ended the call and broke out in a celebratory dance of sorts, wiggling just his shoulders back and forth as he moved from side to side. She  _ wanted _ to see him again.  _ She _ called  _ him _ . 

 

“Holy fucking hell,” he grinned as he ran up the stairs. He needed to find Tormund. The dumb oaf had managed to forget about the call for days, but had come through with the name when it mattered. He owed the man a drink.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> Feedback is greatly appreciated :D


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